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my german grandfather introduced me to that same evil, almost hallucinatory book. the illustrations accompanying the story of the kid who wouldn't cut his nails still give me the jibblies - in fact, i could never progress beyond reading that story, so i have no recollection of the story with and illustration of a hostile, bespectacled rabbit trying to gun down some poor fellow whose only avenue of escape is to fling himself down a well while emitting a massive fart, squidlike, in order to cover his escape. plus, the rabbit almost looks like he's smoking a cigarette, doesn't he?


Remember mum used to read this to us? I could never tell if she thought it was instructional or funny. So here is her reaction when I bought it for B, thinking it was funny? "Oh, how could you? Such an awful book! It will give him nightmares. Put it away right now!" B found the rabbit story the most hilarious.


Of course I remember this book, and my feeling about this as well as many intrinsic parts of childhood is how do children EVER learn to make sense of the world? Remember the song she used to sing about the deer who offers safe haven to a little rabit who is being chased by a hunter? Wouldn't they just be a bigger, doubly delicious target for him? And how did a deer learn to build a house?

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